


I Will Shoot Him: A Love Story

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Dean, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been shot, Dean's wracked with guilt, and Castiel is trying to care for both of them.  AKA Dean is drunk, Sam is on painkillers, and Castiel is starting to understand that human saying about wanting to beat one's head against a wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Shoot Him: A Love Story

I _Will_ Shoot Him: A Love Story

Dean couldn’t believe how fast the whole thing had gone to shit. It was supposed to be a routine hunt—in, out, and back on the road-- but in a split second everything had turned and there was Sam on the ground, bleeding. Dean was no stranger to stitching cuts and popping in dislocated joints, and God knows they’d all spent some time taking it easy after having their bells rung, but one look at Sam and Dean knew this was beyond his abilities. There was so much blood that he’d started to panic about needing an ambulance, but thankfully Cas had kept his head. They should go, he’d said, it would take too long for an ambulance to get to them. He was right, of course. They were out in the middle of nowhere. Cas helped Dean lift Sam into the Impala and sat in the back holding pressure on the wound in his side while Dean drove as fast as he could to the nearest hospital. 

Now he and Cas were sitting in the waiting room and Sam was in surgery. Well, Cas was sitting. Dean was pacing. Cas was doing that thing where he sat perfectly still, so far inside his own head that it felt like he was someplace else entirely. The stillness made Dean’s own movements seem jerky and agitated by comparison and he found himself getting irrationally angry at the way the angel exuded calm. Before Dean could snap at him for—for what? For doing nothing? Jesus, Dean—a nurse came in to tell them Sam was out of surgery and that they could see him. 

The doctor explained that he’d lost a lot of blood and would be in considerable pain as he recovered, but that he should be all right. It was Cas who’d been the one to thank the doctor for everything; Dean hadn’t been able to focus on anything other than how awful Sam looked: pale and unconscious, hooked up to tubes and monitors. 

Once the doctor left, Dean sat with his head in his hands, jumping up when Sam’s monitor started to blink and chime. Before he could even call for the nurse, it stopped. But a few moments later, the alert sounded again. He started towards the door --Why the hell weren’t they coming to help Sam? --when Cas stopped him by saying his name.

“I’ve been studying the monitor. It goes off when Sam's numbers near the end of the range on the screen. That noise is more of a warning, not a sign that anything is wrong. Listen,” another alarm was coming from somewhere down the hall, this one higher-pitched and more insistent. It was followed by the sound of footsteps. “That’s the sound you need to worry about.”

Dean was still poised near the door but he looked where Cas was pointing, trying to take in the information. He was too tired to make sense of it, but he realized that Cas must be right. Sam would’ve figured it out, too, he thought. So why the hell had Dean been in charge of this hunt? Look where his inability to size up a situation had gotten them. 

 

It was after midnight at this point but no way was Dean leaving Sam. And Cas had no intention of leaving Dean. Too tired to put up a fight, Dean just nodded when Cas announced his plan to sleep in the waiting room. Dean settled himself into the recliner and switched on the TV, quickly muting it before it could disturb his brother. Eventually he fell into a restless sleep, waking a few hours later in a cold sweat. Sam looked the same, so Dean turned off the TV and got up to stretch his legs. 

The waiting room was empty other than Cas who was asleep on one of the couches. It was a full sized couch, but Cas was curled up near the middle, his jacket providing little in the way of protection against the institutional air conditioning. _Bet he wished he had that trench coat now_ , thought Dean, going in search of a blanket for him. He asked at the brightly lit nurse’s station and instead of directing him to a storage cabinet, Sam’s nurse, Claudia, led him to what looked like a stainless steel refrigerator but was actually a blanket warmer. Claudia was in her mid-fifties with the sturdy, comforting manner of a diner waitress and she told him to help himself to as many blankets as he wanted. He took one, holding it to his chest as he walked back to the waiting room. 

Dean shook the blanket open and quickly spread it over Cas. He folded up the jacket and spent a few moments trying to slide it under Cas’s head like a pillow. Finally he gave up and laid it next to his head. Maybe he’d roll onto it. Before long, Cas stretched out as the heat warmed his limbs and Dean took small solace in the fact that he was able to provide his friend with this little bit of comfort. It was pretty crappy when “not getting you shot” was the best he could do. He made his way back to Sam’s room and managed to fall asleep again.

The next time he woke was to the sound of rubber-soled shoes squeaking on linoleum. The sky was just getting light and he saw Claudia bending over Sam with a clipboard in her hand. 

“Sorry to wake you,” she whispered. “He looks really good.” He watched her leave then heaved the recliner into an upright position. Only then did he notice Cas standing in a darkened corner of the room. 

“Well, that’s a little creepy,” Dean said by way of greeting. 

“Did you get some sleep?” asked Cas, still staring at Sam’s motionless form.

“You tell me, Edward Cullen.” 

Cas moved to the foot of the bed and offered to stay with Sam so Dean could get himself breakfast. Dean said he’d be fine with just coffee from the waiting room, but Cas wasn’t convinced. 

“If I get something for you from the cafeteria, will you eat it?” Dean knew there was no use arguing with Cas when he got into Mother Hen mode so he nodded his assent. Cas left, his face a mask of serious concentration. 

The day was looking to be bright and clear, which Dean found immensely irritating. There was no place for sunshine with Sam lying in that bed. Dean pulled the curtains shut against the morning, feeling a grim satisfaction at having the room match his mood. Once Sam was on the mend, they were going to have to get him out of the hospital. They were too vulnerable here, too many people in and out for Dean to feel comfortable. He hoped Sam would wake up soon, because getting him into the Impala was going to be a hell of a lot easier that way. He was contemplating whether Sam would even fit in a wheelchair without his feet dragging on the floor when Cas came back into the room.

“I decided high protein foods would be the most efficient way to get nutrients into you,” he said, handing Dean a bag. Dean opened it to find beef jerky, a hard-boiled egg, a package of salted peanuts, and a container of cherry-vanilla yogurt. 

“Thanks, man” Dean said. Despite his worries, he couldn’t suppress a small smile at the way the angel’s determined thoughtfulness had resulted in a combination that would be right at home on that cooking show where they had to use a basket of freaky ingredients. 

He’d finished the egg and was half way through the yogurt when Sam’s monitor went straight to the high-pitched alarm, a red square blinking ominously in the center of the screen. Claudia was there in a flash and she stood calmly looking at the display before hitting a button that Dean could clearly see said “Silence Alarm”. Did she think that was going to fool Dean? That he would just stand there while she let his brother die? Christ, had anybody checked whether she was a demon or a shapeshifter or--

She reached under the neckline of Sam’s gown and readjusted one of the sticky leads on his chest. “Just a problem with the lead. The monitor wasn’t getting the information.” Dean saw that the red square was gone and the monitor stayed quiet even though she’d turned off the silence feature. He was so focused on the monitor that he didn’t notice Sam had begun to stir. 

Claudia warned them that it could still take some time for him to come to, and sure enough an hour passed with his eyes fluttering intermittently before he was able to keep them open. Dean was the first thing he saw when was able to focus for any length of time. 

“Hey, Sam. How you feeling? Doing ok, buddy?” But all Sam did was stare. Dean wasn’t even sure his brother recognized him.

Cas had gone to get Claudia and when she appeared at the bedside, Sam slowly turned towards her.

“Who’s that?” He turned to Dean for clarification, his voice slurred from the medication.

“That’s Claudia.” Sam took in the dyed blond hair styled into a stiff helmet, the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck, and the nametag pinned to the sweater she wore over her scrubs.

“Hi, Claudia. Could I please have a grilled chicken sandwich and a side salad?”

The sharp noise Dean made was a bark of a laugh, but it was a knife’s edge from being a sob. Sam was loopy as hell, but he was in there. 

“Sammy,” Dean smiled at him, speaking slowly. “Claudia’s a nurse. This is a hospital.”

“A hospital?” Sam tried to sit up, but they eased him back down. “Oh my God, Dean, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Sam. And you will be too.” Dean did his best to calm him as Claudia put another dose of pain medication into his IV.

“Claudia, this is my brother Dean,” said Sam in an official sort of voice, as if proper introductions were suddenly needed. Just then he caught sight of Castiel and his eyes lit up. “And this is his beautiful wife, Cas.” 

Claudia was clearly used to high-as-a-kite patients because she merely nodded saying, “Well, isn’t that nice?” which was all the encouragement Sam needed.

“Actually, they’re not married yet because it isn’t legal in this state,” he turned back to Dean, looking puzzled. “What state is this?”

“You, my friend, are in a state of bliss”

Giddy with relief at having his brother back, Dean threw an arm around Cas who had opened his mouth to correct the many inaccuracies Sam had made. “Don’t you worry, Cas. I’m going to make an honest woman out of you some day.”

 

*******

The doctor hadn’t been keen on Sam leaving the hospital so soon but once Dean had made it clear that they would go with or without her blessing, she’d sighed and given them prescriptions for pain killers and antibiotics as well as a list of warning signs to look out for. Dean had waited to talk to the doctor until Claudia’s shift had ended. She’d been nothing but kind and he didn’t want to put her in the position of trying to convince them to stay. It would be easier for everyone if they were just gone when she came back to work.

He’d driven back to the motel with Sam sprawled in the back seat, long legs everywhere. Dean did his best to avoid bumps and sharp turns while Cas studied the discharge instructions. He’d been the one to go over dosages and schedules with the doctor. 

It was early evening by the time they’d gotten Sam into the room, settling him in the bed farthest from the door as if that extra ten feet would somehow protect him, then Dean left to pick up some dinner for him and Cas. And he’d intended to do just that, really he had, but he’d stopped first for gas and while he stood there, something flickered in the periphery of his vision, maybe a bit of leaf in the wind, maybe nothing at all, but it caused him to turn his head at the exact same angle as when he’d seen Sam go down. Suddenly the sound of traffic disappeared along with the feel of the gas pump in his hand and all he heard was silence and his own blood pounding in his ears. Standing on the hard asphalt, he felt soft grass and dirt beneath his feet. It was maybe six seconds that kept replaying in his head: He’d turned just a fraction too late, unable to warn Sam, left to watch his brother fall, blood spurting, even before he hit the ground. It was a loop that mocked his helplessness and highlighted his recklessness and he dealt with it the only way he knew how. This state may not have legalized gay marriage but it had something else: liquor sales in convenience stores. He pulled himself together long enough to finish filling the Impala and buy a bottle of the cheapest whiskey they had.

*******

Cas was sitting at the desk in the small, cluttered room when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Impala’s engine followed by the slam of a car door and a fumbling of keys. Three hours had passed since Dean left. There was a clattering as the motel door opened and Cas watched Dean attempt to casually enter the room. Cas glanced at Sam--he was still asleep--before he spoke.

“Are you drunk?” he asked evenly.

“No,” Dean said and he felt like he could've pulled it off had he not closed the edge of his army green jacket in the door. He tried to yank it out, but that just jerked him backwards and he was forced to re-open the door and untangle himself.

“I wish you wouldn’t drive when you’ve been drinking. It’s not safe.”

The last thing Dean needed was Cas looking at him like he’d forgotten his birthday. His brain searched for the perfect comeback somehow selecting, “Yeah, well, here I am” from the range of possibilities.

“Did you at least pick up some food?” Shit. He still wasn’t used to the angel having human needs like eating and sleeping and even though Cas didn’t say it in an accusing manner, it went through Dean like an arrow. But the part of him that wanted to apologize or admit he’d been freaked out by what happened to Sam was currently pickled in cheap booze so he decided the next logical step was to pick a fight. With any luck, he could goad Cas into throwing a punch. He almost looked forward to the way the pain would validate Dean’s worthless attempts to keep his word. He was moving towards Cas, trying to decide the best way to provoke him, when he tripped over Sam’s boots—Jesus, those things were like train cars—and fell to the ground, jolting Sam’s bed in the process. It was the moan of pain that came from his brother—again, Dean’s fault—that took the fight out of him. 

Dean sat wedged in the small space between Sam’s bed and the wall. He laid his head on the cool steel of the air conditioning unit that rattled incessantly while doing next to nothing to adjust the temperature in the room. Cas got up from his chair, picked up Sam’s boots and tucked them away under the desk. He crouched down across from Dean. 

“All I do is hurt people,” Dean said in a muffled voice, his face in his hands. 

When Dean got like this—and he seemed to have an endless supply of ways to punish himself—Cas knew what he needed was not to be reminded of all the good he’d done in the world or how many people he’d saved. He needed to be rooted in the here and now, his focus as narrow as the neck of a whiskey bottle.

“Sam is ok,” Cas said softly but firmly. “He’s ok.”

“But he could’ve...” Dean started, and Cas took his wrists and gently moved his hands from his eyes, forcing Dean to look at him.

“But he didn’t.” Cas knew this was only a short-term solution; Dean’s demons ran far too deep, but he hoped to give Dean enough peace to at least get some rest tonight. He held his gaze and said again, “He’s ok. And so am I. And truly, so are you.”

Dean searched those blue eyes for some sign that Cas was lying to him, or worse, pitying him. It went against everything he knew about himself, but for some reason, Dean decided to believe him. 

“I’m sorry I forgot your dinner,” he said softly as he let Cas pull him to his feet like a child.

“I know you are. “ He led him over to the bed. “C’mon. You need to get some sleep.” 

In the time it took Cas to double check that the door was locked, Dean fell asleep on top of the covers. At least he’d managed to get his own shoes off first. Leaving him like that, Cas moved between the two beds to tend to Sam who was now awake. He helped him to a sitting position and gave him his next dose of pain medication, enticing him to wash it down with a plastic cup of apple juice they’d brought from the hospital. He helped him walk the short distance to the bathroom, then helped him back to the bed when he was done. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam nodded towards Dean.

“Is he drunk?”

“No,” Cas lied.

“Fighting or crying?” Sam, of course, knew how these things usually went. “Or both?”

“He tried to pick a fight, but it didn’t go too far.”

Sam patted the bed next to him and Cas sat down. Sam was giving him the puppy dog look so he knew something heartfelt was coming. 

“I’m so glad he has you. You’re the only one who can calm him down when he gets like that.” The pain medication must have kicked in because Sam leaned in as if he was speaking confidentially, but his voice was at full volume, maybe even louder. 

Cas was grateful for the sentiment, but he didn’t want Dean to wake up. He glanced over at the other bed. Too late. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean called while struggling to push himself up on one elbow. Sam was undeterred.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Sam leaned in closer to Cas, still talking loudly. “He looks at you the same way he looks at…PIE!” he finished triumphantly.

“I mean it, Sam, shut the hell up!” Dean’s arm collapsed under him and he face-planted into the mattress. 

Now Sam flung an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and stage whispered, “That means he wants to _eat you_.” 

Dean pushed himself onto his knees and looked menacingly at his brother. “Get your hands off him, Sam. “

Sam clumsily ruffled Cas’ hair (and much of his face), giving him a big wink and an “I told you so” face.

“ _Stop. Touching. Him._ ” Dean started to pat around his jacket pockets. “So help me, I will shoot you, Sammy.” 

Cas might have been more concerned by this escalation of violence, but he had disarmed Dean back when he was sitting on the floor, his gun now tucked safely away in the small space under the air conditioner. 

“Just look at the way he defends your honor!” Sam was nearly overcome by emotion and Cas suddenly understood the human saying about wanting to beat one’s head against the wall. A small headache was forming behind his eyes as he tried to reconcile that this whole thing had started because Dean felt so responsible for getting Sam shot and yet now he was threatening to pump more bullet holes into his brother. Not to mention that fact that Dean’s reaction completely reinforced Sam’s point, which meant they were somehow fighting while standing on the _same side_ of the argument. 

Cas clapped his hands twice and in the stunned silence that followed the sudden loud noise, he announced “Bedtime!” in his most authoritative growl. To his surprise, the brothers obeyed. He helped Sam lie down, diagonally so his feet wouldn’t hang off the end of the bed, then helped Dean take off his jacket and made sure he got underneath the covers this time. 

“Everybody good?” Cas asked the now quiet room.

“Cas?” 

“Yes, Sam?

“Tuck me in?”

He walked back between the beds to look at Sam who had pulled up the covers, his hands on either side of his chin. His face was scrunched up and Cas could see the way he must’ve looked at ten years old, all long lashes and dimples. He lifted up the covers so that Sam could slide his arms down by his sides, then awkwardly patted the blanket around his shoulders. Sam smiled and sighed and closed his eyes. Cas had lost his diagnostic abilities along with his grace, but when he brushed back Sam’s hair, his forehead felt cool and dry and Cas knew that was a good sign. 

Over on the dresser he found the bag of peanuts he’d bought for Dean at the hospital cafeteria. He sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, while Dean slept next to him. He ate the peanuts as quietly as he could while listening to the way the brothers’ breathing synchronized. He thought about getting up and straightening the room and brushing his teeth, but as soon as he started to swing his legs off the bed, Dean’s left arm shot out and wrapped around his waist. Cas smiled; everything else could wait. He twisted slightly to put the empty cellophane package on the night table alongside the pill bottles and bandages and took one last look at Sam before turning off the light. 

Dean's arm still around him, he scooched himself flat and Dean was up against him in a flash like a tipsy heat-seeking missile. He pressed against his side, tangling his warm feet in with Castiel's cold ones. 

“Cas? “ Dean murmured into his neck, “You good?”

“Of course” Cas answered, sliding his left arm under Dean. He could feel the top of Dean's head against his jaw. 

“Because I _will_ shoot him.”

Cas pressed a soft kiss into Dean's hair. In the dark, he wondered if Dean could tell he was smiling.


End file.
